Chapter 256 [Night Mother's Gaze]

"The dream has ended."

"Returning..."

Whoosh—the stagnant space and time instantly returned to normal.

Along with the damp stench of blood rushing into his nose came the deafening roar of the rainstorm echoing in his ears once more.

Xia Nan lay half-slumped on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk.

His pitch-black eyes stared straight ahead, gazing into the void.

He looked somewhat dazed.

This was naturally due to the massive influx of simulated memory scenes from the [Dream Weaving Corridor].

In reality, perhaps only a thousandth of a second had passed.

But to Xia Nan, it felt as if he had lived through the entire process of the uniquely colored Winter Wolf Kalosh meeting, getting to know, and finally parting ways with the Barbarian Grom in that single instant.

Of course, memories of mundane things like eating and sleeping, including the two years when Kalosh disappeared, were as faint and blurry as recalling a dream after waking up.

But even just the remaining "essence"—hundreds of days of "hard facts" poured into his mind in less than a second—was enough to leave his mind reeling, lost in a daze.

Throughout this entire process, he had even forgotten his own identity, momentarily losing sight of his extremely dangerous situation.

Instead, he truly became that exceptionally talented Barbarian master Grom, running and hunting alongside the black wolf Kalosh on the howling, snow-swept Split Tooth Highlands. Ultimately, after a long-brewing yet clean and decisive battle, he comprehended the combat technique named [Fang Hunt].

Xia Nan could clearly recall every single second "he" spent with Kalosh.

The way its power flowed and gathered as it lay in ambush within the shadows; the undulating contours of the muscles beneath its pitch-black mane when it pounced; and even the rhythm of its pacing, which seemed to contain some marvelous cadence...

As well as that final battle in his memory: at the story's end, forged in the flames of vengeance, the fallen corpse of the centipede beast and the black wolf landing lightly on its feet.

Having found the soul of the combat technique, [Fang Hunt] finally took shape.

From initially being just a concept to ultimately becoming a combat technique, Xia Nan experienced the entire process.

Because of this, he experienced the entirety of it—whether it was those whimsical ideas ultimately discarded for being impractical, or the ingenious touches that should have been integrated into the combat technique but were temporarily set aside due to their extreme difficulty.

Success and failure, maturity and callowness...

His understanding of [Fang Hunt] was rising at an exaggerated speed.

In the past, it would have required countless practice sessions, blending sweat and inspiration, to slowly transform it into a visible increase in proficiency. Now, however, thanks to this wondrous, epiphany-like experience brought about by the [Dream Weaving Corridor], it skyrocketed.

"Proficiency +1"

"Proficiency +1"

"Proficiency +1"

...

The semi-transparent prompts, visible only to him, had not stopped refreshing since he entered the dreamscape.

And at the moment the dream ended, they erupted in a massive cascade, flooding his vision.

"Proficiency +48"

"[Fang Hunt] Iv4 (100/100) -> [Fang Hunt] Iv5 (MAX)"

"[Meteor Blade Hunter] Iv1 -> [Meteor Blade Hunter] Iv2"

"Strength +1, Agility +2"

"Feat [Night Mother's Gaze] unlocked."

[Night Mother's Gaze]

Category: Feat Effect:

When you use [Fang Hunt], the enemy must pass a willpower check (Perception bias);

Upon a failed check, they fall into the "Fear" state; upon a successful check, they gain a temporary immunity until the next release of [Fang Hunt].

Description:

Ancient memories from the creator of the combat technique have caused your [Fang Hunt] to undergo subtle changes.

Note:

"Kalosh, the ominous shadow, the congealed tears of the dark night."

"Sizzle!"

Tinged with crimson, the silvery-white venom was forced out from the wound squarely in the center of his chest. It splattered onto the meadow beside him, emitting a corrosive hiss.

An emerald-green light, brimming with the aura of life, flashed silently around his neck.

Flesh twisted and knitted together as the wound recovered at a speed visible to the naked eye. The blood scabs fell away, revealing smooth skin without the slightest scar underneath.

Abundant Strength emerged from some unknown place within him, surging through his entire body like a spring.

Silently, his muscles grew tougher, building up an explosive power far exceeding anything he had before—

The world before his eyes seemed to suddenly slow down, allowing him to clearly see the falling trajectory of every single raindrop in his line of sight. That was the attribute bonus from his combat technique's upgrade—Strength hitting 8 points and Agility hitting 10 points—bringing a profoundly mystical perspective completely different from before.

Boiling blood surged and roared through his veins, an unprecedented, majestic power rippling across his body.

His injuries were completely healed.

At this moment, Xia Nan was at his absolute peak since transmigrating into this world.

Lowering his head slightly, he saw that the oval, silvery-white metal [Dream Weaving Corridor] had disappeared.

In its place on his right ring finger, sitting just a gap away from the [Deathline] on his index finger, was another Silver Ring with a smooth, flawless surface.

After being successfully activated, much like the "master-recognition ceremonies" in the novels of his past life, the [Dream Weaving Corridor] automatically transformed from its slightly clunky, hard-to-carry oval sphere shape into the form of a ring accessory, settling onto his finger.

He curled his five fingers slightly. The two Silver Rings on his index and ring fingers refracted a faint glimmer under the shroud of rain.

"Clang!"

Not far ahead came the crisp ring of metal weapons violently clashing.

His pitch-black eyes quietly shifted as he picked up the iron-gray longsword from the mud. Howl—A low wolf's cry resonated softly. The rainwater around him stalled for a moment, then was swept up by the air currents to form a gradually solidifying Wolf Head.

However, compared to its previous savage roaring, this phantom image now appeared far more restrained and steady. The Wolf's Maw was clamped shut, and only a pair of blurred wolf eyes quietly flickered in the crystalline rain, as if hiding all killing intent and aura away.

"Whoosh."

Strangely, a smear of ink-like pitch black rippled out from among the mane of the gradually forming Wolf Head.

"Clang!"

The heavy longsword, its surface flowing with liquid silver-white, knocked away the rapier trying to block it, leaving a terrifying gash on the surface of the metal armor.

A thick leather boot lifted high and kicked out with explosive force.

The scar-riddled, lean middle-aged man in front of him was kicked away. He rolled rather wretchedly through the muddy water twice before gasping for breath and struggling to his feet.

Trevelyan looked at Lawson ahead, a triumphant smile of certain victory on his face.

The Half-Elf Hai'an and his guard Wood had completely lost their combat ability. That black-haired young man who looked like an Adventurer was the very first to be pierced by the spikes; by now, he had likely died completely under the corrosion of his liquid metal.

As for Lawson before him, perhaps in his prime, Trevelyan wouldn't have been his match.

But right now, the man had first been hit by [Bestow Curse], weakening all his attributes by thirty percent, and then had one of his hands chopped off by him.

His actual combat capability had already been severely diminished.

Even though the battle was not entirely over yet, and he had yet to get his hands on that Morton Family treasure...

Trevelyan could already confidently assert:

He was the final winner of this gamble!

Hum—

The heavy longsword fiercely swept through the air once more.

Along with the silvery-white afterimages lingering on the retina, three teardrop-shaped beads of silvery-white iron shot from the blade.

"Swish!"

The air was instantly torn apart. The silvery-white iron beads howled as they crossed the spatial barrier, encountering no resistance whatsoever, and ruthlessly pierced the body of the middle-aged man ahead, whose reactions were sluggish from his heavy injuries.

Left shoulder, chest, and right leg—three gory, see-through wounds that revealed the wasteland behind him.

Yet Lawson still did not fall.

The physical constitution of an Iv6 Class Holder, coupled with the tenacious willpower tempered from climbing up step-by-step from a lowly background through years of experience as an Adventurer, allowed him to maintain his standing posture even though his accumulated injuries had pushed him to the absolute limit and he was on the verge of death.

On the surface of that deeply wrinkled face, weathered by wind and frost, there was none of the expected agony.

There wasn't even a trace of regret, anger, or any similar emotion.

All that remained was a hysterical, lunatic madness.

"Hahahaha!"

Bright red blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, as if the excruciating pain wracking his body—enough to swallow an ordinary person's consciousness—did not exist.

Lawson laughed maniacally, the last shreds of reason in his mind dissipating into the suffocating grip of approaching death.

"The Morton Family's—"

"All! Deserve! To die!"

Hum—

A sharp edge slashed through the rain as the dagger hung at his waist was drawn in a flash.

The scene of the man crushing the Signal Crystal to summon the red dragon just moments ago was still vivid in his mind. Terrified that the man before him wanted to drag him down in mutual destruction and ruin this excellent situation, Trevelyan violently retreated the instant the dagger was drawn.

But strangely, the Short Dagger in Lawson's hand did not swing toward the Morton Family knight.

Instead, immediately after being unsheathed, it plunged straight into his own chest.

"!"

The blade's tip pierced through flesh and blood, emerging from his back.

Blood spurted out.

Lawson's momentum, which had already plummeted to rock bottom, explosively skyrocketed at a visible rate!

That was a combat technique from the [Blood-Seeking Veteran] class, one that cost his life and his afterlife's soul, and could only be used once in a lifetime:

—[Dying Sun Blood Will].

His skin and muscles withered in an instant, making him look like a shriveled corpse from a tomb. His gray-and-white hair fell out like dead autumn leaves, leaving behind only a dry, wrinkled scalp.

His physical body, along with his soul, was squeezed to the absolute limit in exchange for fleeting combat prowess.

Boom—air currents surged violently. Trevelyan's expression froze, and he only had time to raise his longsword defensively in front of him.

In the next second, he was instantly blasted flying away.

The incomparably hard, thick heavy armor protecting his entire chest was sliced diagonally open by the thin blade, as easily as cutting tofu.

His skin and flesh offered not a shred of defense, parting smoothly beneath the blade's edge to expose the pale bones beneath and the contours of the internal organs under his diaphragm.

With just a single strike, Trevelyan was grievously wounded.

But he was, after all, the youngest Knight Commander of the Morton Family. Perhaps his mentality wavered due to a lack of experience, but once plunged into a fight to the death, the combat instincts forged by rigorous training since childhood and nurtured by countless resources were fully ignited.

He violently jerked his longsword upward. The flowing silvery-white liquid gathered at the tip of the blade, instantly extending its reach.

Its inherently fluid and flexible nature made the knight look as if he were wielding a silvery-white iron whip, forcing the withered figure radiating bloody mist ahead of him to retreat.

Simultaneously, he pulled a vial of Healing Potion—its liquid swaying and emitting a faint glow—from his waist pouch and downed the whole thing.

The severe injuries that had begun to tear wider due to his violent movements immediately stabilized.

His mind raced.

Without a doubt, what Lawson was using right now was some sort of state-type combat technique that traded life potential for combat power.

It might push his offensive capabilities to the absolute peak of his life, but it sacrificed his defense and physical endurance.

Based on his experience, this state absolutely could not last long.

He only needed to hold on for another minute—perhaps even less—and the backlash would render his opponent completely powerless to resist.

Although he had suffered a heavy blow from a moment of carelessness, the entire bottle of Healing Potion he just drank had already helped stabilize his wounds, preserving his combat strength.

At least in terms of defense, with his Iv5 [Silver-Plated Knight] class abilities, he wouldn't be lacking much.

As long as he could withstand Lawson's incoming offensive, he would—

His thoughts froze in an instant.

The roar of the torrential rain hitting the ground, the furious bellowing of the enemy, and even the sound of his own breathing, all vanished in this moment.

The world fell into deathly silence.

'What happened?'

He subconsciously asked himself this.

There was no answer. Even his thinking had congealed.

After a brief pause, what answered him was a long, reverberating wolf's howl. It went from soft to loud, from muffled to clear, pouring into his ear canals and echoing inside his skull along with the fierce wind.

What did he see?

Not far ahead, Lawson's shriveled, withered body was still standing in place.

He could even see the bone splinters at the stump of his wrist and the faintly twitching muscles inside the gaping wound piercing his chest.

But that head.

That head with bloodshot eyes and sunken skin resembling a dried corpse.

Had already vanished from atop his neck.

'Where did it go?'

Trevelyan asked himself once again in his mind.

Rumble—Leaden clouds churned, and explosive lightning instantly illuminated the gloomy world veiled in rain.

He saw it.

It was a massive wolf beast, entirely pitch-black, its mane swaying wildly.

It looked somewhat like a Winter Wolf?

No, its body was far larger, and its limbs were visibly longer. That madly flailing pitch-black mane was absolutely not a color a Winter Wolf should possess. Shrouded in shadows, its limbs moved lightly as its twisted, ferocious silhouette paced softly through the curtain of rain.

Blood and water dripped down.

Lawson's head, which had vanished from his shoulders, was currently clamped tightly within the Wolf's Maw.

'Why? Why is there a monster of this level in the Molten Scale Mountains?'

'How could that red dragon possibly allow an existence like this to approach its territory?'

Rumble—Another clap of thunder.

Trevelyan's vision suddenly blurred for a moment.

At the edge of his sight, deep within the rainstorm, the black wolf melted into the shadows.

Taking its place was a young man clad in iron armor, radiating a cold, fierce aura.

The iron-gray longsword angled slightly downward. Wrapped in fresh blood and raindrops, the withered head—which had been gently removed from the neck with exaggerated speed and peerless skill, its expression forever frozen—slowly rolled off the blade.

Set against the backdrop of the massive, twisted Wolf Head phantom behind him.

Cutting across the dense curtain of rain, those calm, pitch-black eyes, like a deep pool in a hidden forest, looked over amidst the deathly silence.

Hum—A ringing in his ears.

A suffocatingly immense pressure and an unspeakable terror that seeped deep into his bones.

Erupted from the depths of Trevelyan's heart.